


undisclosed desires in your heart

by silveriris



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Developing Relationship, Fenders, Fenders February, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Purple Hawke, Substance Abuse, Swearing, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9561116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveriris/pseuds/silveriris
Summary: Anders and Fenris both try very hard to deny they have actual feelings for each other. / Written for Fenders February ’17Feedback is very much appreciated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: going back to writing fenders after a longer while, so some things (like characterization) may be a bit off. This is supposed to be a relatively short and simple fic written for a fan event. So I guess don’t expect too much..?  
> Title from Undisclosed Desires by Muse.

Hawke’s laughter echoed in the cave as she weighted a bag of coins in her hands.

“Look what we have here! I told you this place was worth checking out!” she beamed at the rest of the group.

Varric shook his head. “Let’s hope the bandits have enough coin for all of us.”

“Judging from the state of their armours, I’d say they weren’t the richest men in the Free Marches,” Anders added with a bitter expression on his face.

Fenris didn’t pay much attention to looting dead corpses of their enemies, instead he took a calming breath. Normally he welcomed the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his body, yet for the past couple of days he didn’t feel that good. His whole body was sore after fighting. Perhaps he simply needed some rest.

Feeling someone staring at him, he glanced around. His and Anders’ eyes met for a brief moment, then the mage quickly turned his head away, pretending he wasn’t looking. Fenris gripped his sword with a force that could break a man's leg in half.

It was infuriating. It wasn't the first time he felt the Anders’ eyes on him when he thought the elf wouldn't notice. Staring at him like he was some... specimen. Fenris felt anger rising in his throat, his markings flickering for a split second, reacting to his emotions. He should have killed this man long time ago, Hawke would have understood. Maybe she would even congratulate him, after all Anders got her involved in that worthless mage underground thing that was nothing but trouble.

Thankfully Hawke asked him to check the crates by the wall. Much to her disappointment they didn’t find anything valuable. Fenris didn’t care that much as long as he could finally go back to Kirkwall and get some much needed rest.

 

* * *

 

It took Fenris a whole week to convince himself that he should, in fact, visit a healer. On his way to a small clinic in Darktown, he tried to justify his decision. Finding a healer who would want to treat an elf would be difficult enough, so there really was only _one_ person in all Kirkwall who could help him.

With a heavy sigh, Fenris stepped inside Anders’ clinic.

The furnishings were sparse: rickety beds for patients, currently empty, a bookshelf with some scrolls, bottles and vials. A sheet of fabric covered an entry to a smaller room which was most likely Anders’ bedroom.

The mage himself was kneeling on the floor, putting pieces of meat to a small bowl for a large black cat. The animal shot Fenris a glance but paid no attention to him once the bowl was full. Anders patted the cat, then stood up and turned. Seeing the elf he froze, startled.

“Fenris. I didn’t hear you come in.”

_It’s a miracle you’re still alive if you pay no attention to your surroundings_.

Fenris resisted the urge to comment, reminding himself that he’s not here to quarrel.

“I’m here to ask you something,” he said. The fastest way of getting out of here was to state his business and hope Anders is cooperative enough. “You are a skilled healer, are you not?”

Anders observed him for a moment, his face blank. There was a hint of doubt in his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe Fenris was here willingly.

“Sit down on the cot,” the mage gestured at a narrow bed covered with an old blanket, grey as every other piece of fabric available in Darktown. “Is it an old wound? Let me look at your leg.”

Fenris blinked, baffled. He didn't say a word about his leg hurting, yet the mage knew. Of course he did, he was a healer.

“I'm fine.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I said, I'm fine!”

_You certainly aren't_ , said the mage without words, giving him a look. Fenris gritted his teeth. This is _not_ how this conversation was supposed to go!

“I came here to purchase a salve. Varric mentioned you gave one to Sebastian the other day,” he tried to keep his voice calm.

“It won't do much, if it's a bleeding wound.” Anders wouldn't stop staring at him, as if trying to pierce the elf's armour and clothing with his intense gaze to check what was the problem. It was getting ridiculous.

“It's not,” Fenris barked, tips of his pointy ears getting red.

“What is it, then? You need a salve for your sore muscles, am I right? You shouldn't have waited so long. Hawke needs you in battle, she has no use of a warrior that can't take proper care of his injuries. Your muscles started hurting around the time we came back from the Wounded Coast a week ago?”

_Blighted mage, noticing every small detail._

“Yes,” he admitted with resignation. “Now, since we agreed on something, would you sell me a salve?”

“No.”

“N..?! _Fasta vass_!” His hands curled into fists. It would be so easy to rip the mage's heart out, thus solving all their problems. “I'm not here to steal your medications from you, I'll _pay_ you good coin for...”

“I'm not _selling_ you anything, Fenris,” Anders interrupted, clearly amused by this whole situation.

Was the man... toying with him? Anger rose in his throat. Fenris closed the distance between them in two steps, so fast the mage could only blink before being pushed to sit down on the cot behind him. As the elf’s metal gauntlets grabbed his coat, his expression changed, smugness replaced by panic.

“You always brag you're here for the people,” Fenris growled, resisting the urge to twist the man’s neck and be done with it. “Healing the poor, helping every fool, not taking anything in return. And yet, when I offer you to pay for a medication, give you some actual coin you're obviously lacking, you say no, because your healer's code means nothing when a person you _hate_ asks you for help!”

“I'm not selling you anything,” Anders repeated, this time with a panicky uneasiness in his voice. “You're getting it for free. Sebastian didn't have to pay, and I can't stand the guy. You're both fighting by my side. By Hawke's. You have to be in your top form. Of course I'll give you any medication you need!”

The growling stopped, but Fenris still held him firmly, nearly ripping the coat to shreds.

“Listen, I... uh...” Anders licked his lips, his face turning red. “I'm an ass, I know. I thought teasing you would be a good joke, you're always so serious about everything… Well, it clearly wasn't. Now, would you please let me go? This is the only coat I’ve got.”

With a snarl Fenris let go, and took few steps back mumbling angrily in Tevene. Seeing his furious gaze, Anders replied with an apologetic smile.

“Let me have a look at your leg. You're getting the salve, but if it's your muscles that hurt then it won't do much.”

“What do you suggest?” Fenris narrowed his eyes. He was already getting a headache; honestly, every conversation with this man was exhausting and resulted in a severe migraine. He could just punch him in his stupid head, and be done with everything.

“It's best to massage the sore muscles,” Anders shrugged as if what he was suggesting didn't involve something that Fenris hated – being touched. “Sebastian blushed like a maiden, but let me tell you, he _liked_ that. Obviously I'm a great masseuse! Though I imagine he had to scrub his skin after he got back to the Chantry, because an _apostate_ touched him. His back is significantly be–”

“No.”

The mage rolled his eyes. “I know you don't like people touching you, but listen...”

“It's a waste of time,” Fenris announced, ready to leave. But when he turned, he couldn't quite hide the sour look on his face caused by a sudden eruption of pain in his thigh. Anders was, obviously, right; his muscles were sore, additionally his lyrium markings also hurt like seven hells, which was the reason he felt almost paralysed this morning.

After waking up, he laid in his bed, cursing, then spent the whole day battling with the idea of going to the Darktown clinic for help. It wasn't an easy decision, his pride was strongly against it, but in the end his sore body won. Then Anders had to make everything so bloody difficult, instead of just giving him some damn salve!

Anders' hand on his shoulder was unexpected, yet Fenris didn't oppose. “Sit down, _please_. And put your sword aside.”

Without a word, Fenris let the mage guide him to the cot to sit down. At least the place was empty, so there was no one else to witness this foolish situation.

“I guess telling you to take of your leggings would be too much.”

“...” If looks could kill, Anders would be a pile of ashes by now.

“All right, then,” he cleared his throat, perhaps finally realising that it was no use joking with this particular patient.

“I'll start with massaging your feet...”

“Do NOT touch my feet!”

The mage put his hands up. “Okay, okay, relax! You elves...” he mumbled something more, irritated.

He deliberately placed his hands very slowly on the elf's right calf, his skin strikingly pale on the dark fabric. He kept his eyes fixed on the leg, so he wouldn't see the murderous glare Fenris was giving him.

“I believe you'll tell me when you're uncomfortable,” Anders took a deep breath. “Let's begin. It's just a massage. You already know my touch, it'll be something like healing you after a battle. But with more touching,” he blabbed. “Uh, I'll shut up now.”

_Finally_ , the elf thought.

“And for the record, I do not hate you. I obviously disagree with you on most subjects, but hate is a strong word reserved only for templars and people who drown newborn kittens.”

His large hands massaged the elf's calf, radiating warmth that was pleasant and soothing. Fenris would never admit he liked it, that would ruin his reputation, wouldn’t it? Instead he glared, ready to strike if Anders did something suspicious.

The mage simply continued, concentrating on the task. Calmed by his touch, lyrium under Fenris' skin gradually stopped hurting. It felt rather odd because the markings hurt all the time since he could remember. He grew so accustomed to this particular kind of ache, the lack of it was unnatural.

Anders moved his hands to massage his thigh, kneading the sore muscles but not doing anything else. Thankfully, he also kept his mouth shut.

It was... pleasant, yes. The mage certainly knew what he was doing. During his life in the Imperium, Danarius used to hire professional healers to tend to the wounds on his precious slave (that sometimes were a results of his foul experiments or treatment; the problem was that the slave was easily breakable, not that the master was a sadist). Fenris received a massage only twice in his live, he remembered his body responding to the healer's hands, all tension disappearing. That was only a figure without a name, another slave summoned to use his talents, just like Fenris did when ordered. He had to do it, or else face death for disobeying a direct order from a magister.

Anders, however, was doing this because he wanted to. It was his idea, after all. And his hands radiated warmth, markings responding to his will. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was a mage, a powerful one and with a Fade spirit inhabiting his body, on top of that.

Fenris shook his head. It didn't matter. He let out a sigh, his body relaxing bit by bit. Anders still didn't say anything, focusing his attention on the other leg.

Fenris had his eyes half–closed, enjoying the feeling. Then he winced, outraged, feeling something dangerously close to a spark of desire awakening somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

“That's enough.” He pushed the mage who landed heavily on his ass as disgracefully as possible.

“I'm not done!” Anders complained with an ugly frown.

“I said, enough.” Fenris stood up, his ears burning. _This is ridiculous._

Enraged by his body's response, he grabbed his sword and nearly ran to the door. What he failed to notice was that his muscles were not hurting anymore.

“Fenris, the salve!” Anders called out after him. “You need to–”

But the elf was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been two days since Anders last saw Fenris, and the mage was beginning to think he had offended the warrior. Somehow. _Again_. It was something that happened on a daily basis between them. Though usually it involved talking about mage rights.

He didn’t think about the elf's behaviour longer than necessary, busy with patients gathering in the only place that could provide any kind of help. Anders clearly remembered how tense Fenris' muscles were under his touch, and how his whole body radiated heat. And lyrium in his markings, Justice stirring at the back of his mind as he worked to ease the pain the tattoos must surely cause. He could only imagine what such amounts of lyrium did to the elf's body.

For once the spirit inside him didn't preach about the injustice, instead switching focus to what he called a 'lyrium song'. The substance could supposedly emit the sweetest sounds. Sometimes Anders believed him. He could swear he heard some distant tune at times, especially when Fenris was around, but it must have been nothing but his mind slowly spiralling into madness.

Professional as he was, he wasn't blind or stupid. Of course Fenris was attractive. Off limits but attractive.

The next day after the elf's visit, he was covered in blood up to his elbows saving lives of both a lady and her newborn twins, surrounded by her weeping husband and his harsh mother. The older woman cursed the Maker so much Anders half expected she would be struck by lightning for this blasphemy. He was exhausted afterwards, having spent all his magic on mending the woman's internal organs and stopping the bleeding to keep her alive. He insisted they all stayed, but the older lady shushed him, ordering him to go to bed and rest like she was his mother.

(of course she wasn't; his mother was far away, possibly dead, and Anders couldn't even remember her face anymore)

The husband wouldn't stop crying, and he thanked Anders for what seemed like an hour. The mother seemed to radiate a divine light, keeping her babies close. Though she claimed she was perfectly fine, Anders advised her to stay in bed for about a week, eat healthy and avoid hard work. She wouldn't listen to his advice, most likely, but he had to tell her all that just like he always did. Having nothing else to offer, the father said he'll pray for him.

It was early morning by the time they left, the older woman forced Anders to bed, covered him with what he had for a blanket, and for a second he thought she really was his mother. He was so exhausted he fell asleep almost instantly. Justice hummed in his mind, thanking for the lives he saved. He didn't lock the door behind them, but luckily not a single person came to the clinic that night.

The next day Hawke visited, barging in like she always did, with a mischievous grin on her pretty face. When she was around, Darktown changed, becoming less miserable.

“And here's my favourite healer!”

Anders wasn't particularly busy, thank the Maker, so he welcomed the company with a smile which could almost hide how tired he was after the previous night.

“Your one and only healer, you wanted to say,” he gestured at an empty cot but she waved her hand. She was always in motion, no time for sitting down.

“I have some exciting news!” Hawke said, and began her tale.

Anders didn't have to listen to the whole story, it was usually more or less the same. Something shiny and/or pricey hidden/stolen somewhere around Kirkwall. Fighting with assassins/slavers/monsters highly possible. Hawke very excited. Adventure!

The thing was, even though the prospect of yet another escapade didn’t interest him in the slightest, it was difficult to refuse when Hawke was asking.

“Who else is going?” he said despite knowing all possible answers to this question.

It was easy to predict who would be on their team. Varric, most likely. Aveline was currently busy with the guards, putting her job as a priority, tagging along with Hawke only occasionally. It was difficult to tell with Isabela, because one could never predict what the pirate was planning.

Sebastian accompanied them last time, now he was probably in the Chantry praying or whatever, so he was out. Merrill didn't have much else to do, and always came if Hawke asked. That left Fenris, and if Aveline was out, their team needed a warrior which meant the elf was most definitely going as he, too, couldn't say no to Marian Hawke.

“I knew you'd say yes!” She beamed at him. “Varric's still getting us some things, let's meet tomorrow morning at my place. I asked Merrill and Fenris, so it's two humans, two elves, and a dwarf to spice things up!”

Anders nodded. He would recover by tomorrow. He made a mental note to himself to pack the salve to give it to Fenris since the elf might still need it, though he didn't expect anything close to 'thank you'.

 

* * *

 

They stumbled upon a swarm of giant spiders, because of course they did. At times Anders wondered if that was the essence of adventuring with Hawke – fighting big spiders. He suspected Hawke had some weird spider summoning skills she wasn't aware of. How else could they explain that they had to fight spiders (almost) every time they ventured around Kirkwall?

Fighting wasn't the problem, the aftermath was, especially having spider guts in one's hair. Varric complained loudly about Bianca covered in smelly goo. Merrill looked sick, stepping away from a half burned carcass. Fenris was swearing, blood and other spider fluids all over his body after he cut the biggest one in half (which wasn't the wisest move considering the thing collapsed on top of him). Anders hesitantly touched his head and shuddered when his hand touched something squishy and bloody that was stuck to his hair. He kept his distance, yet he got hit with spider bodyparts, his clothes ruined, his vanity wounded. He had to take a deep breath.

Hawke, on the other hand, was way too cheerful for this situation. Wiping her face with a sleeve of her robe, she announced, “Okay, then, gang! We march forward!”

“I need a moment here...” Varric sighed. “Bianca can't fight for now.”

Anders finally managed to get rid of whatever was stuck to his head. He glanced at it for a second before throwing it away with disgust. He didn't know what was it, and frankly he didn't want to know.

“There's a small stream over there,” Merrill pointed out. “I feel like I really need a bath.”

“Don't worry, Daisy, you don't look half bad. Broody on the other hand…” Varric gestured at Fenris who seemed completely unfazed by layers of blood and gore covering him.

The look on Hawke's face changed drastically when she glanced at the elf. “Uh, yes, I think we _all_ need a quick bath.”

Thankfully the stream wasn't far away, and the group reached it in no time, some more than happy at the sight of running water. While Hawke unceremoniously undressed in front of others, stepping in the water with nothing but her underclothes, Anders tried not to stare (but he did, albeit not so openly). Hawke was pretty and he _might_ have some unresolved feelings for her, but that was a different story. He focused his attention on disrobing. He felt dirty. Awfully dirty, and smelly, and he hated those giant spiders more with every passing second.

He took off his coat, placing it neatly on the side to wash off the worst stains. But first he had to take care of the more pressing matter. He let his hair loose, noticing it got longer.

“With such long hair you look like a pretty gal, templars will never find you!” he heard Hawke's laughter.

“You always know what to say, thanks” Anders smiled, brushing hair of his face.

Soon he would be able to wear his hair in a ponytail like he used to. Maybe he should even get an earring, though he was sure Justice wouldn't approve of such needless decorations on his body. What about a lyrium earring, then?

“Now here’s something to thank the Maker for!”

Hearing Hawke's voice accompanied by Merrill's “Oh!”, Anders turned his head to see what was the source of their reactions. He had to be hallucinating because it was Fenris sans his armour and clothing, wearing only his leggings that didn't leave much room for imagination. The elf walked into the water with a cat–like grace. He wasn't limping, his legs looked perfectly fine (more than fine), so the combination of massage and subtle healing magic must have worked. Now the mage knew that to peel off the elf's clothes, he had to cover him in spider goo. How about that. 

It'd been a while since they all met, yet it was the first time they ever saw Fenris out of his armour. And clothes. He sometimes took off his gauntlets when they were playing cards, but most of the time he was completely clothed, exposing no more skin than necessary. Which was a complete opposite of what Isabela usually did, so there was always a balance in their group, one could think.

For a person who was particularly broody, not to mention stubborn, Fenris couldn't be described simply as eye catching or handsome. He was beautiful. His body was a work of art. Even though he hated his markings with burning passion, the way they contrasted with his dark skin could set one's heart aflame. He was all muscles, his lean body strong yet slim.

Anders allowed himself to take one more look, before turning his head away from this distraction. Though he couldn't quite forget seeing the lyrium tattoos going all the way down, a strategic part of them covered by leggings but probably reaching...

 _That's enough_ , he barked at himself in his thoughts. Where the hell was Justice, anyway? Usually he was the one reminding his host to stop thinking about distractions. Why he didn't comment on this particular one?

It was a lyrium–marked distraction. Well, of course. Anders let out a sigh.

Varric whistled. “Broody, let me tell you, you could be Kirkwall's most eligible bachelor.”

Fenris scoffed. “I don't think that Hightown's nobles would appreciate having me around their daughters.”

“I assure you, the daughters would appreciate that a lot!”

“Let's bathe and get back to the task.”

“I'm not sure if I want to, honestly this is better than whatever the hell we were doing!” Hawke wiggled her eyebrows.

Tips of his elven ears turned red. Hawke was always flirty with everyone, though she never did anything more serious than that. At times it was shocking how easily she could wrap someone around her little finger. Her companions weren't immune, Fenris included.

Anders returned his attention to his hair, brushing wet strands with his fingers. It seemed the elf didn’t need the salve anymore. The less they talked the better; they didn't exchange one word since Fenris left the clinic that time. Anders talked to Varric, Hawke and Merrill, but didn't speak to Fenris. The elf talked to Hawke, Varric, and Merrill if necessary, but otherwise ignored the mage completely. It seemed they reached some sort of status quo, both stubbornly ignoring the other.

Hawke's comments about the elf's physique had no end, which probably meant their break was going to be longer than planned. Anders appreciated it, after all everything was better than dealing with monstrous spiders only to get few coins, an old pair of trousers or a rusty sword. Letting his hair dry in the warm sun, the mage cleaned the stains on his coat. He was doing well ignoring Fenris (and his barely clothed body), though he could vividly remember the pattern of his tattoos. It was all the spirit's fault, Justice liked lyrium so obviously he liked the elf and his stupid markings. _Obviously_.

“You should get a new coat, I think.”

He looked up to see Merrill standing by his side. She was relatively clean compared to others. While the rest of them had to scrub off chunks of spiderflesh and goo, she only washed her face. Anders narrowed his eyes. Was it because the Dalish was a blood mage? Could she remove stains with her blood magic? Intrigued, he vaguely entertained the idea of blood mages performing cleaning services.

“I know I should but sadly I can't afford a new one at the moment.”

“If you were more lucky, you could win some coin playing the Wicked Grace. Isabela is teaching me how to play, perhaps she could tutor you as well?”

Anders snorted with laughter. “Perhaps I should ask her.”

“Really?” Merrill blinked, her big eyes sparkling with excitement. “Then remember to show her that electricity thing. She asked me if I could do it, but I don't know what spell she had in mind. Is that something they teach human mages in the Circle?”

He almost fell into the stream. “No, it's not something they teach in the Circle,” he replied barely containing his laughter. “It's more like a spell of my own design.”

“She could teach you to play better, and you could show her that spell.”

“Seems like a fair deal,” he nodded with a mock serious expression.

“You look nice with your hair like this,” she said, giving him one more smile. At times like this, it was easy to forget that Merrill was a powerful blood mage. Her cute smile could fool everyone into thinking she was a harmless, petite elf.

Sensing someone watching him, his eyes caught Fenris observing him just before the elf turned around pretending he wasn't looking at all.

“Broody, put some damn clothes on, Hawke's already used all her pickup lines on you, and you're bloody distracting with all… _that_ ,” Varric gestured at the elf.

“Damnit, you're right, I got nothing,” Marian frowned. “Time to think of new ones!”

“Are we going back to Kirkwall?” Anders asked; he stood up and put on his coat. Merrill was right, he should buy something new, but with his pockets always devoid of coin, he couldn't afford such luxuries like 'new clothing'.

“We aren't done yet!” Hawke pointed out. “There's still treasures to find!”

Anders groaned. It would be a long day...

As he reached to his bag to find something he could use as a hair tie, his hand found a small bottle. It was the salve for Fenris. He glanced at the elf, now fully clothed again ( _thank the Maker_ ). He could just throw it at him, maybe it would land on his empty head.

Hawke announced they are moving on, and their followed their fearless, sometimes careless, leader to continue the adventure that would hopefully bring them a substantial monetary reward. Two hours later they found a treasure chest with just enough coin to stop their complaining, so it wasn't a day completely wasted.

 

* * *

 

“I need a drink!” Hawke announced the moment they returned to Kirkwall. The city greeted them with its usual stench. Fenris didn’t quite appreciate the way guards looked at him, though being inside Kirkwall’s walls was still better than fighting giant spiders.

“Let’s go, drinks are on me!”

“You know I can’t say now to such generous offer,” Varric chuckled.

“You coming, Fenris?”

“Maybe next time,” he replied. As much as he liked Hawke, her company was too much at times. He needed some time alone.

“Sure thing. You know where to find me!”

They all said their goodbyes, Hawke and Varric leaving for the Hanged Man, Merrill going back to the Alienage. Anders hesitated, glancing at Hawke. Perhaps he was considering going with the Champion. Fenris didn’t care that much to ask. To be honest, all he cared about right now was getting some rest.

“Fenris, wait.”

The elf’s brows knit. He turned to face Anders who was looking for something in his bag. Just like everything the mage possessed, also his bag was worn out, and probably used to belong to someone else.

“What do you want? I don’t have time for your preaching.”

“Do you have a busy schedule? Eager to return to the mansion where you can drink until you pass out?”

Fenris gave the mage one long look before turning on the spot to walk away.

“No, wait! That’s not what I wanted to say!” Anders reached out to touch the elf’s shoulder. Fenris took a step back, glaring at the mage.

“Speak or leave me alone,” he said, making sure they keep a distance.

Anders sighed. “I got you the salve you wanted. Listen to your healer and take it. Free of charge, _of course_.”

He produced a small bottle from his bag. Surprised at first, Fenris narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t need your pity.”

The mage scoffed. “ _Pity_? I don’t pity you, you stupid elf. I merely make sure you’re in top form so you won’t get anyone from our group killed! That you won’t get _me_ killed!”

“How _thoughtful_ of you,” Fenris spat, making no move to take the offering.

“Listen, I really don't care about you, and I can't stand your blighted attitude, but I'm a healer which means I give a damn about my patients. Stubborn elves included.”

Fenris didn't feel like replying; it was exhausting, all these conversations with the mage.

“Take the blighted thing, and you better use it.” Before Fenris could move away, Anders grabbed his wrist and put the bottle in his hand. “It's better to apply it after a hot bath, preferably in the evening. I see your muscles don't hurt anymore, but use it just in case. You can injure yourself quite easily if you're careless. And don't wait till the pain is unbearable. Come to the clinic, I'll help your sorry ass.”

Angry, partly at the mage, partly at himself, Fenris took a step back, away from Anders who was still holding his wrist.

“How do I know it's not poison?”

Anders stared at him for a longer while, with his mouth open. “You... You can't be serious! You think I'd poison you?!”

“Mages cannot be trusted.”

Anders howled. He massaged the bridge of his nose. Fenris hid his smile. It was always so easy to pick on the man.

Anders, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate the joke at all. “Is it so hard to admit not all magic is evil? That healers do some actual good despite being Evil Mages?” he said in an angry tone, his eyebrows furrowed. “That my magic helped you? That you _enjoyed_ it?”

“What?” Fenris barked, feeling his blood boil.

“Oh, please! I’m not here to shame you, it was only natural. Don’t pretend like you can’t understand what I mean, and admit it.”

Anders pushed and pushed, and then Fenris snapped.

With a growl, he grabbed the man’s coat. He paid no attention to the bottle falling from his hand, and smashing into pieces on the stone near their feet. As Fenris pushed Anders back, the mage yelped in panic. Part of the elf’s mind registered how light the mage was.

Ander’s back hit the wall, Fenris’ gauntlets digging into the fabric of his coat.

“Don’t presume you know anything about me,” Fenris whispered, his face so close to Anders’ face he could see his own reflection in the mage’s eyes.

Anders swallowed loudly. “Of course I don’t. I can only guess.”

Fenris hesitated. He expected a battle, not complete defeat.

“But it would be nice,” Anders continued, his honey eyes looking at the elf with unexpected softness. “Knowing something about you, I mean.”

That made Fenris even more confused.

“Everyone always presumes that we can only fight with each other,” Anders shook his head, his lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I’m… I’m tired, you know? Tired of people claiming they know everything about me. And tired of fighting, with you at least.”

The elf kept silent, unable to respond. Deep down within him something stirred impatiently, longing for what he couldn’t understand yet.

And that was the day when Fenris made a discovery that surprised him greatly. He did not flinch when Anders put his hand on his chest, a gesture that could be considered intimate if it wasn’t for the armour the elf was wearing.

He did not object when Anders moved his hand, so slowly and with so much hesitation in his eyes it was clear the mage didn’t exactly know what he was doing.

“May I?” The question hung in the air like a blade ready to strike. Anders’ hand on his face was warm, pleasantly warm like always, and Fenris nodded, not quite believing this was actually happening.

He did not move away, at first didn’t react at all when Anders closed the distance between them.

But he did return the kiss after a moment when he could finally comprehend what was happening. And then Fernis thought, _I think I’m losing my mind_.

He was partially right.


	3. Chapter 3

_I’ve done many dumb things in my life_ , the thought appeared in Anders’ mind that refused to produce any other form of response. As if shielding him from the present moment, he recalled things that could surely be described as _dumb_. Like his every single escape from the Circle, especially the one when he swam across the lake. Anders still wasn’t sure how he did it, his body was so full of adrenaline he barely remembered being in water.

Or that time when he was with the Grey Wardens, and Oghren challenged him to drink his finest liquor. By _finest_ the dwarf meant disgusting and so strong it nearly burned a hole in Anders’ intestines. Warden Commander Mahariel gave them both a look that said he just lost all hope in humanity. Good times.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could be compared to what he just did. It was a dream, had to be, because as reckless as Anders was sometimes, he didn’t have a death wish. And how else he could describe this situation. Justice was as speechless as he was, the mage realised with surprise, as he searched his mind for some support but found none.

_Will you at least help me defend myself when Fenris decides it’s best to kill me on the spot here and now?_ , he asked but there was no answer. For a spirit who loved to preach about injustice, giving Anders endless headaches, he was oddly silent. Perhaps the Spirit of Justice should be renamed the Spirit of Avoiding Inconvenient Questions.

When the kiss ended, because all good things had to end, Anders pulled back awaiting his punishment. He studied Fenris’s face, looking for the signs the elf was ready to rip his heart out. Strangely enough, there was no glowing.

Fenris seemed... stunned. He blinked, then looked straight at Anders, as if trying to comprehend what happened. And was that… Anders resisted the urge to smile seeing the elf was blushing.

“Fenris,” he spoke in a calm voice. Perhaps they could talk this through. No need for violence, right?

But just like that the moment was gone. The transformation happened in an instant, the elf frowned, then twisted his lips into a snarl, and the next thing that Anders registered was that he was pressed to the wall, _again_ , metal gauntlets gripping his coat, _again_ , and Fenris looking like he was about to kill someone.

_And that someone would be me_.

“Are you insane?” Fenris growled, his hands trembling.

But there was something in his eyes that told Anders a lot more than the elf’s angry voice, a glimmer of… Well, it was difficult to focus on analysing Fenris’ complex personality now that he was about to rip Anders’ heart out, although the mage could tell that deep down, under all this anger, Fenris was embarrassed.

Embarrassed that it happened? That he didn’t stop Anders? That he _nodded_ when the mage asked?

“Could you let me go? This is the only coat I have, as you already know,” Anders replied, ignoring the question. “Unless you want to buy me a new one, then be my guest.”

He put his hands on the elf’s metal gauntlets, with every passing second feeling more sure that he wouldn’t do anything else than the usual ‘grab the coat and shake the mage’.

Fenris visibly trembled, though it was hard to tell if he was more embarrassed or repulsed. He finally let go and took a step back, glaring at Anders. Without a word of explanation, the elf turned around ready to leave.

_Looks like you chose the ‘deny it ever happened and move on’ approach_ , Anders thought bitterly.

“Wicked Grace tomorrow night?” he called out after the elf, a final desperate attempt to communicate. “I heard there’s something new on the menu, though it’s the Hanged Man so I suspect they’ll just cook rats a bit differently.”

Fenris ignored the mage completely, walking away as fast as he possibly could.

_Well, at least your muscles don’t ache anymore_ , Anders mused. Then his eyes moved to the sad remains of a bottle on the ground, and he let out a sigh.

 

* * *

 

Fenris couldn’t explain what happened to him, and when faced with the possibility that maybe, _maybe_ , deep down this whole situation was more complex than he thought, he chose the safest way to deal with the matter – by avoiding to deal with it at all.

_I’m not going to the Hanged Man_ , he decided. He detested the way Anders so casually asked if he wanted to play cards like every other night, as if nothing happened.

Fenris indeed thought about it, although there was more thinking about the mage, less about the game, if Fenris wanted to be honest with himself (but of course he wasn't). Then he thought some more.

Half an hour later he was on his way to the Hanged Man, cursing himself in his thoughts.

Hawke was already by Varric’s table, the two talking loudly when Fenris arrived. The place was as crowded as usually, but for some reason it seemed that people were especially loud tonight. Or maybe it was because Fenris couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness, something stirring inside him impatiently since the moment he and Anders parted ways.

“That wasn’t a waste of time!” Hawke insisted, a bottle of wine in her hand. “There’s coin just laying around Kirkwall, waiting for someone to pick it up. We only need to know where to look.”

“Hawke, I think you developed an unhealthy obsession with adventuring,” Varric said in a mock serious tone, his smirk betraying his amusement.

Fenris didn’t care that much to listen to their conversation. He poured himself a glass of… well, _something_ , trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts in his head.

Two bottles later, the place looked even uglier, people were louder, and Fenris couldn't stand the stench of whatever the man by the next table was eating. Why the hell they weren't drinking in Varric's suite was a mystery to him, though Hawke insisted she should be seen among the common folk to raise the morale (which was bullshit anyway, but Fenris didn't want to object because it was Hawke's idea).

“So are we playing or what?” the Champion asked with a frown. “Where is everyone? Isabela said she’ll be here, and Anders..?”

“Blondie's not here, meaning someone else will lose all their money tonight. I'm guessing it won't be me,” Varric raised his glass.

“He's busy with patients, I guess,” said Hawke filling her cup with the cheap wine she was drinking. It tasted like piss with a small hint of apples. “We need to do something _fun_ , the night’s already started and we’re sitting here doing nothing. Who wants to hear the Champion sing?”

“Please don’t,” Fenris replied, shaking his head. “You have many talents, Hawke, but singing isn’t one of them. If we’re not doing anything, then I’m going back. At least there's better wine in my cellar.”

“ _Your_ cellar?” Hawke laughed loudly; she had one too many, it seemed. “You're squatting illegally in what people around Kirkwall now consider a haunted mansion. It's a miracle guards haven’t discovered you yet! Thank Aveline for that, ya know.”

“You stay where you are, elf!” Isabela's hand hit the table which didn't have much effect in the noisy environment. After drinking for quite a while, they didn’t even see her coming. “Since we're not playing cards, you’re going to help me with my masterpiece. I'm having a writer's block. Unbelievable, I know, but it happens to the best as well.”

Fenris snorted. “I don't intend to listen to your lewd stories. I'm leaving.”

He tried to get up, but Isabela grabbed his arm and pulled down, forcing him to sit back. The elf grumbled when she leaned forward uncomfortably close, pressing her ample chest to his side.

“You're staying, my sweet. I'll let you know you're crucial to the story!”

“You better stop teasing Fenris, Bela, you know he's not into your weird fetishes,” Hawke said with a wicked grin on her flushed face.

“Everyone has a weird fetish, at least one. It’s a well–known fact,” Isabela announced with confidence. “I can make them tell me all about it, I'm very persuasive.”

“Of course, you are, Rivaini,” Varric laughed. “We all believe you.”

Hearing a familiar voice everyone's attention switched to the person who appeared by their table.

“Sorry I'm late.”

“Anders! My favourite healer!” Isabela exclaimed with too much enthusiasm provided by too much wine. Fenris nearly fell on the floor as she pushed him aside to pounce on the mage. She hugged him with affection as if she hadn't seen him for ages. Anders smiled, patting her on the head.

“I love you too, Bela. I told you already, I'm not telling people about your little secret. Healer's code. Just remember to take the potions regularly.”

“Oh stop it, you!” The pirate grabbed him by the coat and pulled towards the table. He could barely greet Hawke and Varric before she pushed him down on the chair, then sat on his lap like it was something normal. Anders didn't mind, apparently, though at one point her hair smacked him in the face when she turned her head to the side.

Fenris, to his own surprise, felt a pang of jealousy. Not because Isabela was so forward, but... But. Well, he wasn't sure why.

He glanced at Anders, but the mage didn't even look at him, apparently having too much fun with Isabela wiggling on his lap. As if nothing happened or it didn’t matter in the slightest. With an ugly frown, he opened another bottle, focusing entirely on drinking despite the sour taste in his mouth.

“Okay, okay, here's the deal,” Isabela gestured wildly, spilling her drink all over the table. “As I said, I don't know how to continue my latest story.”

“She won't listen to me,” Varric said in an apologetic tone.

“Because you just want to kill off everyone! People don’t want to see their favourite characters dying!” She sounded genuinely offended.

“What is the problem, then?” asked Anders, taking a filled cup from Hawke and manoeuvring it away from Isabela to avoid spilling wine on his already dirty coat.

“So, this one guy is this angsty mysterious warrior, who just lost his family and all that. The other guy...”

“Oh, it's a love story between two men? You must tell Sebastian about it. In detail. He'll burst into flames!” Hawke had a wicked grin on her flushed face.

“I will but let me finish, dammit! So, the other guy is this tormented hero fighting for a lost cause. And they don't want to cooperate!”

“By cooperate I assume you mean you want them to shag,” Anders pointed out.

Isabela shook with laughter. Fenris glanced at them with narrowed eyes. They were so casual about the fact that she was sitting on his lap, and the mage had his hand on her waist. And nobody seemed to care. Fenris quickly finished the cup and filled it again, liquor humming in his head.

“Lock them in a room together,” suggested Hawke.

“That's boring, I need more action!”

“Then lock them in a dungeon!”

“What's with you and locking people up?” Varric glanced suspiciously at the Champion of Kirkwall.

“And you know who has to save them from the horrible torture they’re about to experience in the villain’s dungeon? The Champion herself!” she continued with excitement.

“Hawke, I’ve told you million times already, I won’t put you in this story! This one isn’t about you.”

“But it _should_ be!”

Everything was so loud, too loud, and all Fenris heard was a constant noise attacking his brain. The stench of food, cheap alcohol, sweat, dogs and piss was unbearable.

They all laughed while Hawke started describing in great detail what would happen in the story. Without a word, Fenris grabbed his sword and left, unnoticed. His head pounded, sword and armour felt uncomfortably heavy, markings felt like a living flame. He had enough of the place for tonight.

Instead of going straight back to the mansion, he turned to a street near the Hanged Man. He was lucky enough so it was empty, for once street gangs didn't bother him, busy somewhere else. The place was dark and smelly, but with significantly less noise than the busy tavern. Fenris closed his eyes, not feeling so attacked anymore.

“Are you unwell?”

Surprised by the voice, Fenris jumped instantly grabbing his sword and ready to attack. For a one wild moment, he wasn't sure what he was seeing, but then he realised who exactly was standing in front of him, nearly sliced in half by his sword. With a growl, he put the weapon down.

“What are you doing here?”

Anders let out a long sigh; he probably stopped breathing for a moment. “You look unwell. I thought....” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “You shouldn't walk alone at night.”

Wine was buzzing in his head, making him feel oddly light. “I do not need you to babysit me.”

Anders laughed. It was a short, fake laugh. “Of course, we both know that. But I'm a healer first, and I know when someone needs assistance. Let me walk you to Hightown at least.”

“You were having a lot of fun in there, why would you leave?” Fenris had a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

He didn't like the way Anders looked at him. In his honey eyes Fenris saw superiority, like he was persuading a spoiled child to stop playing with a Mabari pup and go back home.

“I'd rather get out of there. They had too much to drink, being the only sober one is never fun.”

Tired of this conversation, Fenris turned and walked away without a word of explanation. That wasn't enough to get rid of Anders, who followed him, knowing better to keep his distance. As awkward as it was to have the mage two steps behind him, Fenris didn't look back, not even once, walking straight to Hightown, pushed forward by his own stubbornness and anger still boiling inside him. Perhaps fate sensed it wasn't the best idea to put any kind of bad guys on their way, as they reached the mansion without any obstacles.

Fenris pushed the front door that opened with an exhausted creek. He risked a glace over his shoulder. “Go away, mage.”

“No, I'm not going anywhere,” Anders walked to him and pushed the elf inside the house, stepping after him and closing the door. “In fact, I'm going to stay here. You don't look good.”

“Leave me alone. Get back to the party!”

“Stop acting like a big baby, Fenris.”

And there it was. Fenris pounced, markings flickering in the dark room. Anders realised what was about to happen seconds too late, ending up pressed to the wall, metal claws holding his coat almost ripping the fabric just like many times before. The truth was, Fenris knew exactly how much force he should apply to avoid ripping the coat, but of course he wouldn’t tell that to Anders. He liked having this kind of power.

“I do not need you to babysit me,” the elf repeated. Anders was like a ragdoll in his hands, he could rip his heart out without any difficulty, ending the ridiculous thoughts in his head once and for all.

He could, of course, but he wouldn't. Not now, not ever. The realisation hit him like a fist to the face. He shook the mage, as if trying to get an explanation from him, but Anders didn't move a finger to protect himself. Fenris shoved him away and took few steps back, his head heavy, legs wobbly. He registered two sad feathers on the floor by the mage's feet – casualties of his outburst.

“Of course you don't need me.” Fenris heard Anders' voice through the fog covering his mind. He shut his eyes, his head spinning. Whatever he had at the Hanged Man, it chose this exact moment to kick in.

“But I want to take care of you. And there's a big difference.”

Fenris didn't remember when his vision went black, but he couldn't forget the warm sensation of the mage's hands on his face, radiating pleasant light all over his tormented body. It was like basking in sunshine after a century of a cold, dark winter.

Fenris was responsible enough to know that passing out drunk was out of question. He enjoyed the taste of various alcohols Danarius had stored in his mansion, but the elf always knew he has to stay focused in case the former owner returns to reclaim not only his house but also his runaway slave. He might have problems with cleaning after himself, the floor in the main room was covered with pieces of glass and empty bottles, though that was a completely different story. This place wasn’t really his, so why he should care about keeping it clean?

That was why for a heartbeat Fenris felt nothing but blind panic when he woke up. His eyes opened wide, hands balling into fists, his mind creating one horrible scenario after another, most of them involved being captured.

He tried to sit up, reach for his sword or any other weapon he could find, but pain exploded in his head, making him groan loudly.

“Hey there, easy. You want to take it slow for a while.”

Ander’s hands were on his chest pushing him gently back on the bed. Fenris massaged his temples, light hurting his eyes. The first thing that surprised him was that he was back in the mansion, in his own bed.

The second – that Anders was sitting by his side.

“Is it morning already?” he asked despite the fact that it wasn’t the question he wanted to ask.

_Why are you here?_

“Yes, you slept like a log all night,” the mage explained. He had a rather tired expression on his face, making Fenris wonder if he had a moment of sleep. Then again, Anders always looked like he was on a verge of exhaustion.

“I imagine the rest of our jolly group is in a similar shape,” the mage continued. “I need to speak with Varric, he should investigate what Rolf is serving at the Hanged Man nowadays.”

“You brought me here?” Fenris asked, embarrassed by possible implications. Although it was rather funny to imagine Anders struggling with carrying him up the stairs. The mage was tall and skinny, not really someone who could do some heavy lifting.

Yet he did help him. Fenris hesitated, uncertain what to think. Why was everything so difficult when Anders was around? Other than the pounding in his head, he felt fine. He had only himself to blame for this horrible hangover…

“I did,” the mage replied with a hint of blush on his pale face. “You’re surprisingly heavy for an elf. Couldn’t leave you on the floor by the front entrance. I’m a healer, remember? Helping people in need, and all that. Besides, Justice insisted we should help, so…”

Anders looked away, his self–confidence gone. He appeared quite flustered, Fenris noticed with fascination as he observed the man’s face. Something stirred in his chest.

“Thank you.”

Expecting mockery or a joke, Fenris braced himself, cursing in his thoughts because his voice sounded so weak it was ridiculous. Anders, however, didn’t do anything other than gaze at the elf. There was something in his honey eyes Fenris couldn’t quite decipher.

_It would be nice, knowing something about you_.

Anders was so different when they weren’t constantly arguing, fighting or pretending to ignore each other. It was as if Fenris got to discover a whole new person behind a wall of anger that Anders had built for himself.

“Do you wish… to stay?” The question left his lips before he could even think, and Fenris regretted it almost immediately. This was the moment when the jokes and mockery would surely come.

What happened instead was significantly different.

Anders let out a silent gasp. His eyes observed Fenris for a moment too long, making a faint blush appear on the elf’s face.

“Gladly,” Anders replied, his voice soft.

He reached out for the elf’s hand. Fenris stared at their fingers intertwined together. Anders’ hand was warm, so pleasantly warm.

“Let’s get something to eat, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: what I had in mind for this fic was quite different than what I ended up writing but I hope there’s at least something worth reading here.  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
